But the tragedy was far from finished with the sinking of the ship. Owing to the panic and confusion the 81 survivors in the boats had only their night clothes and were without food or water, mast or sail, and the starboard lifeboat of which the second mate took command had only one oar. The rest of the horrible story is best told in Henry Macdonald’s own words, and the following is his statement, given at the inquiry afterwards:—

The two boats kept company the 20th and 21st, when it commenced to blow, and we got separated during the night. I whistled and shouted, but when daylight came we could see nothing of the other boat. Thirst began to tell severely on all of us. A man named Bentley fell overboard while steering the boat and was drowned. Three men became mad that day and died. We then threw the bodies overboard. On the 23rd, the wind was blowing hard and a high sea running. We were continually bailing the water out. We rigged a sea anchor and rode to it; but it was only made fast to the end of the boat’s painter, and we lost it. Four men died, and we were so hungry and thirsty that we drank the blood and ate the livers of two of them. We lost our only oar then. On the 24th, there was a strong gale, and we rigged another sea anchor, making it fast with anything we could get. There were six more deaths that day. She shipped water till she was nearly full. On the 25th there was a light breeze and it was awful hot. We were reduced that day to eight, and three of them out of their minds. We all felt very bad that day. Early on the morning of the 26th, not being daylight, a boat passed close to us running. We hailed but got no answer. She was not more than 50 yards off. She was a foreigner. I think she must have heard us. One more died that day. We kept on sucking the blood of those who died. The 27th was squally all round, but we never caught a drop of water, although we tried to do it. Two more died that day. We threw one overboard, but were too weak to lift the other.

There were then five left—two able seamen, one ordinary, myself and one passenger. The passenger was out of his mind. All had drunk sea water. We were all dozing, when the madman bit my foot, and I woke up. We then saw a ship bearing down upon us. She proved to be the British Sceptre, from Calcutta to Dundee. We were taken on board and treated very kindly. I got very bad on board of her. I was very nigh at death’s door. We were not recovered when we got to St. Helena.

So ends the second mate’s statement. The passenger and ordinary seaman both died a day or two after they were rescued, thus, out of 473 souls on the Cospatrick, only three men were saved, the second mate and the two able seamen.

The Loss of the “Avalanche.”

The Avalanche was another Shaw, Savill ship which took down all but three of its company. She was outward bound to Wellington with 60 passengers, under Captain Williams, in September, 1877. At 8.45 p.m. when off Portland, she was on the port tack, the wind blowing strong from the S.W., when a red light was sighted on the starboard bow. The officer of the watch gave the order “hard up” and “brail in the spanker,” but the other ship, which was evidently running up Channel, came straight on, and as the Avalanche fell off struck her right amidships on the port side. Three of the crew of the Avalanche managed to clamber aboard the other ship, which was the Forest of Windsor, Nova Scotia, and these three, the third mate named Sherrington and two A.B.’s, were the only ones saved. The Forest also sank, but managed to launch four boats in safety. These were picked up by fishermen the following morning and landed at Portland.

“WILD DEER.”

Photo by De Maus, Port Chalmers.

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